


Lovers Till The Dawn

by Satine86



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 7,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of tumblr drabbles featuring The Lion and The Herald.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a weird thinky-thought character study inspired by Josephine's comment: “He likes them? Truly? It’s just butter and sugar. Ferelden taste is so… simple.”

Food in the Circle is basic, boiled vegetables and tough meat. Everything is designed to fill you up and keep you going. When he first joins, he’s young and he hates it. He misses his mother’s stew, and fresh berries with sweet cream, but he’s growing and he trains hard and he’s _hungry_ , so he learns not to care too much.

When he leaves Ferelden for Kirkwall, he finds the Circle much the same. Things are basically nutritious, but overcooked and under-seasoned, but he has more important things to worry about. He has nightmares to banish and anger to quell. He has endless questions and no answers. Sometimes he finds himself in a tavern, away from the mess hall, but he still gravitates toward the bland, it’s familiar now. Besides, treating himself isn’t something he ever thinks about it.

When he joins the Inquisition he lives on rations, hardtack and jerky. Once they arrive at Haven, things are a little better, the food is hot. But once they’re settled in Skyhold, as the Inquisition grows, things start to change. The meal offerings are brighter, more colorful as Josephine brings in cooks from Val Royeaux. It’s all a little strange, the tastes unfamiliar… but oddly muted. He can’t figure out why.

As the Lyrium leaves his body he notices the changes more, things taste better, more full and rich. They smell better too. There’s no longer that strange tang he had grown accustomed to, tingeing everything and reminding him of what he used to be. He eats more, he eats to taste things… to enjoy them rather than just to fuel himself. It’s a blessed thing.

He learns to treat himself in ways he never had before. When Josephine sends the biscuits, he finds them delightful, like nothing he’s had yet. Sweet and crisp and delicious. He enjoys them with tea when the afternoons start to drag, and the pain is a little too much to bear.

When they go to Halamshiral his dress uniform no longer fits like it used. Before it hung loosely, the shoulders not tailored right. Now it’s restricted, the arms snug, and it’s tight across the back. He thinks if he crosses his arms the seam might rip. As he stands by the window, trying to ignore his many admirers, he catches a glimpse of his reflection.

He had never given much thought to his looks, it wasn’t something that mattered in the Circle. But he now he notices a change, fuller cheeks, a stronger carriage… there’s just _more_ to him. He is more. His figure is fuller, but he’s fuller too. He’s no longer hollowed out, with sunken cheeks and soulless eyes. The change shocks him a bit because he realizes, for the first time, he is new. He is not the man he was. His eyes drift across the sea of people, the glinting masks and lush finery, until he finds her. The Inquisitor. She had asked for a dance. The old Cullen would never have even attempted such a thing, he would only make a fool of himself. But, he decides with a firm nod to himself, the new Cullen would give it a try.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were five things about Commander Cullen that the Inquisitor had never counted on.

The first thing she noticed wasn’t the way the Commander wielded a blade, or the way he carried himself. She had been around enough soldiers in her life to realize he was skilled, but it was hardly remarkable given the circumstances surrounding their first meeting.

What did give her pause, though, was the way he turned after their conversation and hurried forward to help one of his men, supporting the limping man’s weight as he guided him to safety. _That_ , in her mind, was noteworthy. _That_ was the mark of someone different.

The second thing she took note of was his dry humor, hidden beneath the taciturn demeanor. The first time it presented itself was as they stood at the war table, trying to decide the best course of action to retrieve their scouts from The Fallow Mire, and Josephine had commented on Roderick’s complaints.

“Chancellor Roderick came to speak with me, could you try not to antagonize him?”

“If I offend the man so easily, perhaps he should try leaving me alone?” It was said carelessly, flippant, and she had to slap a hand over her mouth to stop the guffaw that threatened to escape.

If any of the other women gathered had noticed her slip in decorum, they kindly didn’t comment, instead switching to another topic. But Cullen had met her eyes across the table, startled and a little apologetic. Did he think her offended? She shook her head and lowered her hand, lips still twitching.

He had looked relieved, if not a little bashful, rubbing the back of his neck. It was in that moment she noted the third thing: he was handsome. Solemn and proud and perhaps the tiniest bit fragile, but that only added to his looks, she thought. It gave him character, as did the scar above his lip.

It was sometime later when she took note of the forth thing about the young commander. He had been surveying the recruits, looking like any formidable commander, sharp eyes honing in on any weakness that needed correcting. The sun was bright but hardly warm as she stopped by his side.

“Good morning, Herald,” he had greeted.

“Good morning, Commander.” She glanced around at the troops, cold fingers fumbling with her gloves. She tried not to notice the way his fingers had twitched on the hilt of his sword, as if he wanted to help.

She had finally slipped them on when one of the younger recruits had stumbled several paces after a particularly brutal blow, and slammed into her back. She’d had no warning and no way to catch herself. She was preparing to meet the cold, icy ground but strong hands caught her.

Slowly Cullen helped her straighten up again, one hand on her waist, the other under her arm. They were close enough for her to feel the heat he exuded, to see the brown flecks in his eyes. She was also close enough to smell him; like leather and armor polish, like parchment and ink from his late nights pouring over documents. There was something else though, a rich musk she couldn’t name it, so she decided that was _his_ scent. It was all very pleasant, very heady, and she had to swallow thickly before stepping back.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice lowered with concern, hand still on the curve of her waist.

“Perfectly fine, thank you.” She wasn’t sure how she managed to keep her voice even, but she was thankful for it.

He suddenly seemed to realize himself and yanked back his hand as if he’d been burned, balling it into a fist and letting hang at his side. He glanced around her to the recruit who had knocked into her, barking a few commands to improve their stance.

She was glad to have a break from staring into his eyes, to feel them on her. His gaze made her nervous. Truthfully everything about him made her nervous, but in a pleasant way. And that was when she noted the fifth and final thing about the Commander of the Inquisition: he was going to be a huge problem.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Inspired' by a post from janiemcpants on tumblr which resulted in shamelessly writing Cullen shirtless. Because why not?

Skyhold was large, and it seemed with every renovation there was another new area cleared. Another place she had yet to discover. However, there were certain fixtures and certain things that never changed. Dorian in his cubby, Bull lounging in the tavern… Cullen in his tower.

Or at least she had _thought_ that was something that never changed. Except that morning when she had gone to return a stack of reports she found his presence sorely lacking. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed, but that lie fell a bit short. She was terribly disappointed.

She didn’t know when or how, but she had become quite fond of the reserved commander. She had also grown fond of their daily meetings. Unfortunately the blasted fool had decided to deprive her of that much today. For a moment she worried something might be wrong, but he had been feeling better in recent weeks, so she was sure all was well.

Feeling much more surly than when she had awoke that morning, the Inquisitor decided to make her rounds and check-in on everyone. Just as she was leveling out at the top of the steps leading up to the courtyard, she became aware of the clash of steel and the shouts of young recruits. Training was in session, it appeared. She decided to stop and watch over them for a moment when something caught her eye.

Or rather, someone.

Standing in the middle of the practice ring, sun glinting off his golden hair, sans his normal layers of armor and fur, was none other than Cullen Stanton Rutherford, commander of the Inquisition forces. The Inquisitor felt her mouth go dry when she took note of his bare chest.

He had a sword in hand as he motioned for one of the young recruits to step forward. Several others were on the sidelines, their faces grim and sweat streaked. The younger man he had waved into the ring rushed forward, sword raised for attack, but Cullen stepped aside and blocked the blow easily.

The Inquisitor moved toward the ring, and got the attention of the one of the recruits, “What’s happening?”

“Commander issued a challenge. First to best him wins a favor of their choosing.”

“They may pick?” She quirked a brow, gaze firmly locked on Cullen. There was a power to his movements, his years of training evident with every blow, yet he had a certain languid grace as he circled his opponent. He was sure, exuded confidence, and the Inquisitor found it difficult to concentrate on her companion’s words.

“He had a few suggestions; first choice in patrols, private defense lessons. He even said he’d clean someone’s gear for a week. Can you imagine, the Commander cleaning up dirty gear for a recruit?” The young man turned to look at her for the first time, realizing who he had been talking with. “Oh! Inquisitor, your grace, I didn’t know—”

“It’s alright. Uh, at ease?” She waved him off. “How long as he been at this?”

“Oh, I don’t know? About an hour? He’s had several challenges, I think they’re all mad. He’s the Commander, sure, but you know the stories about him. He survived Kirkwall, for Maker’s sake.”

“That he did,” the Inquisitor mumbled. She knew full well she was gawking at this point, but she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the fine sheen of swear covering his upper body. The way the light played off the contours of his lean muscles, how his broad shoulders tapered into a slim waist. She also found herself tracing the fine scars that covered his body.

“Is it open to anyone?” She turned toward the recruit.

“I’m not sure, your grace.”

“I need a sword.” Without waiting for reply, she walked to the weapon rack near the practice ring and found herself a suitable blade, testing it with a few swipes and swings of her arm.

She hid amongst the recruits as the current bout was called to an end, Cullen’s sword poised in a killing blow against his opponent’s chest. He lowered his weapon and held out his hand to the recruit.

“Good match, but remember to mind your side when you’re pressing a charge, you leave yourself open.” The young man nodded and scurried out of the ring.

“Any more challengers?” Cullen asked as he sheathed his sword into the ground. He took a moment to roll his neck and shoulders, the muscles bunching with the movement. The Inquisitor swallowed thickly and stepped forward.

“I’d like to give it a try.” She was rather proud she managed to keep her voice even.

Cullen, who had been in the process of retrieving his sword, nearly fell backward as he hand slipped off the hilt. He glanced up, looking very much like a child with their hand in the cookie jar.

“In-Inquisitor!” His cheeks had been tinged pink from his exertions, but now it deepened to a becoming red. She felt oddly pleased by it.

“You missed our morning meeting.”

He glanced toward the sky, trying to gauge where the sun was, then back to her with an apologetic smile as he started rubbing the back of his neck. “I suppose I did, didn’t I?”

“That’s alright. This looks to be much more fun.”

“You’re serious?”

“Of course. It’s an open challenge, is it not?”

“I.. uh…” The blush was not extending to his ears, and down his neck.

Adjusting her grip on her sword, she met his eyes across the ring. “Oh, come on. I’m hardly delicate, I’ve been fighting bears in the Hinterlands after all.”

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate that I fight the Inquisitor.”

“Cullen,” she sighed. “Don’t make me order you or something. I can order you, can’t I?”

Taking in a deep breath, he grabbed his sword and took up a fighting stance.

“Good man,” she said just before she attacked. She took him off guard, or perhaps he was still embarrassed, either way he was forced to retreat several paces as she advanced. Up close she could see the dusting of light hair across his stomach, trailing into his breeches.

That was not something she needed to be thinking about in that moment.

Cullen blocked one of her blows, their swords clashing so hard it sent a tremor down her arm. She shoved him off and they started their dance again. She refused to hold back, and once he realized that, he didn’t either.

It was hard to tell exactly how long they sparred, circling each other over and over, but soon it became clear that he was starting to tire. She wondered how many recruits he had fought before she had shown up. His blows lacked the strength of before and his hair was soaked with sweat; the darkened locks starting to curl, ringlets covering his head.

He lashed out, trying to catch her off guard, but she twisted out of reach just in time and brought her blade up, inches from his neck.

“I believe that is a killing blow,” she said lightly, “and I win?”

“Good fight.” Cullen took in a deep breath, and ran his hand through his hair. “The rules were that you could request a favor if you won.”

“That seems a lot of power to have.” Returning her sword to the weapon rack she stopped and tapped her chin, as if contemplating it deeply. “I believe this will require some thought. May I collect my favor at a later date?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” He ducked his head, giving her a little half bow. “As you wish.”

“Good, I’d hate to rush into anything. I think this should be savored.” She gave him a slow once over, not really caring they were surrounded by recruits, out in the middle of Skyhold for all to see. Now the blush was trailing down to his chest.

Before he could speak, she brushed past him, making as much contact as possible. “I’ll see you later, Cullen.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a writing meme I was prompted Cullen/Inquisitor + "two miserable people meeting at a wedding au"

"You can’t be serious!?" The voice was agitated, bordering on hysterical, and it had Cullen wanting to investigate.

The wedding was still in full swing, and it struck him as odd that someone would be at the coat check. Of course, there he was loitering in the hall like a recluse, so perhaps he shouldn’t be judging anyone? 

He rounded the corner and found a young woman glaring at the hapless attendant. At a glance she looked perfectly put together, her hair up in some intricate twist he couldn’t fathom how she’d managed it, and her silver dress looked like it’d been poured on. However, her face — as beautiful as it may be — looked close to the breaking point. 

"I’m-I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t find it."

"I have my ticket, I need my coat and bag." Her voice edged up a bit, dangerously close to close to yelling. "I have to leave, now." 

"Excuse me?" Cullen stepped forward. He had no idea what he could do, or how he could help, he just knew that he wanted to. No, that he _had_ to. “Why don’t you both take a breath. It’s likely just a mix up.” 

Without really thinking about it, he hopped over the counter separating the attendant and the woman. He smiled apologetically at the startled employee. “Fresh eyes might help. What am I looking for exactly?” 

The woman held up a small clutch. “The purse matches this. It has my keys. Which I need in order to leave. I don’t care about the coat.” She sent another glare toward the young attendant. 

"Right," he mumbled and started scanning the rows of coats and shawls and bags. He was in the back of the coatroom when he discovered the strap of a bag the same color as the clutch. It had fallen behind a shelf. He carefully extracted it.

When he returned to the front the woman’s eyes lit up at the sight of her bag, and she smiled widely. He tried to ignore the flutter in his chest. He hopped over the counter again and presented it to her with a flourish. “M’lady.” 

"Thank you, kind sir." She laughed, light and airy, taking the bag. “But truthfully, thank you. You didn’t have to go through the trouble.”

"I was happy for the distraction. It saved me the trouble of having to invent excuses for declining any dances." He ducked his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. The woman started heading toward the front doors, and he found himself trailing after her. 

"I’m Cullen, by the way." 

"I know you who you. You were part of the wedding party."

"Yes, I went to University the groom."

"I know the bride. Unfortunately." She slapped a hand over her mouth. "I shouldn’t have said that. She’s just.. she’s my cousin. We’ve never had the best relationship. Which is why I’m leaving early. It’s her request." 

"That’s horrible, I’m sorry."

"It’s alright. I hate weddings anyway." They stepped outside the reception hall. The night was chill, and a gust of wind blew across them, sending a shiver down her spine. 

"You’re cold." Before she could even start to protest, he slipped off his tuxedo jacket and placed it over her shoulders. 

"I.. thank you. Again." Her smile was even brighter this time. 

He shrugged and ducked his head again, he dare not say he felt perfectly warm, his blush warming his cheeks and neck. 

"This might be forward, but would you perhaps let me buy you a coffee? As a thank you, I mean. For your help." 

"I, uh, sure. Of course." She started walking down the steps and across the gravel to the parking area. "Oh, you meant now?"

She turned around, lifting her shoulders gently. “Why not?”

"Why not indeed," he mumbled and followed her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A friend asked me to picture Cullen and the Inquisitor playing strip chess.

It was a rare, but welcome treat whenever he got time alone with the Inquisitor. Away from war councils, from whatever crisis needed their attention at the moment. 

She’d invited him up to her quarters after he finished his work, and he pleasantly surprised to find a bright fire in the hearth and a chess board set up next to it. 

"I thought it would be a fun distraction?" she said with a smile. 

"Sounds wonderful," he replied and took a seat. Before they started though, she held up her hand. For the first time Cullen noticed a wicked glint in her eye. 

"I was thinking, perhaps we could make the game a little more… interesting?" 

"How so?"

"By betting."

"On chess?" He quirked a brow at her. "How would that work? A copper for every piece you lose?"

"Something like that, but we wouldn’t be betting coppers." Cullen looked at her closely, the way her eyes drifted across him, and suddenly the roaring fire made much more sense.

"Ah," he mumbled and cleared his throat. He supposed there were worse ways to spend the afternoon. Besides, he had easily won the last few matches they’d played together. This could end up being quite enjoyable. 

* * *

It was close to an hour later, and Cullen was sweating despite the fact he had lost nearly every item of clothing he’d had on when he arrived. While his beautiful, and obviously extremely clever opponent, was decidedly more clothed. It was shameful. 

"You’ve been practicing," he said as he contemplated the board. 

"I have! Dorian is actually quite a good teacher, very patient."

Cullen smirked at her. “Were you practicing with this particular set of rules?”

She laughed. “Of course not, but it was his suggestion.”

"Of course it was." He sighed. 

"I must admit I’m surprised it’s been going this well." She leaned back in her chair, and crossed her legs. She’d lost her boots and socks, and her over shirt, but was otherwise fully clothed. Cullen forward a bit deeper at the board.

He paused, eyes trailing over the pieces laid out before them. Then his gaze swiveled up to his dear Inquisitor. “You’ve been cheating.”

"Cheating?" She looked utterly scandalized. "I am the Herald of Andraste, the Leader of the Inquisition! I would never cheat at chess. And certainly not to get you naked." 

"Alright then, if that’s how it’s to be….." He sighed, shaking his head very seriously. 

"How what is to be?" She eyed him closely, head tilted. Quick as he could, Cullen lurched out of his chair and scooped her up, tossing her over his shoulder. 

"Put me down this instant! Cullen!" she shrieked, wiggling to get free. He hiked her up on his shoulder and walked to her bed, dropping her unceremoniously onto the pillows. 

She glared up at him, her face flushed after being tipped upside down. “That was rude.”

"You’re the cheater." 

"It was more like padding the odds."

"To get me naked."

She shifted and knelt at the edge of the bed, smiling like the cat that got the cream. “To you get naked.” 

Cullen moved in closer, his knees brushing the edge of the bed. “If you wanted to have your way with me, you could’ve just asked.”

"I’ll keep that in mind for next time." She snaked her arms around his neck and kissed him hard.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed Judith Trevelyan from janiemcpants on tumblr. Then added in some stuff about handwriting and lists and maybe the word “ardently” for reasons.

It always amazed her how organized his desk was. There were endless missives and orders and notes coming and going at all hours of the day, and made all the worse by the fact he never seemed to take a break, or even sleep. Yet everything was in its place, neatly stacked and at the ready for him to give to the proper person.

Over time she noticed there were lists and notes for his personal use as well. She always wondered what they were exactly, scrolls and notebooks covered in neat handwriting. Were they thoughts on the Inquisition? Things to remember when training the recruits?

It wasn’t until one day when she was seated at his desk, waiting for him to finish a discussion with one of his lieutenants, that she got a proper look at one of the notes. It had been rather hastily stuck between a stack of documents from Josephine, the edge sticking out at an odd angle. Considering how tidy everything else was, it was rather difficult not to notice.

Biting her lip, Judith leaned forward and saw her name written in Cullen’s neat penmanship. Curiosity getting the better of her, she gently eased the paper out from the other documents and gave it a quick once over.

At the top of the page written in a more sprawling hand than his usual cramped notes, read the words: _Should I Tell Judith How I Feel?_

The page was then divided by a perfectly straight line down the middle, one side reading “Pros” while the other read “Cons.” She felt rather elated by this discovery, their slow dance had been, well, _slow_. Lots of flirting in private and perhaps more than a few longing glances on her end, but nothing had been said and yet she had hoped.

That hope now proved worthwhile. However, her heart sank down to her toes when she realized the “con” side had far more entries than the “pro” side. She glanced up at Cullen, found him still immersed in his conversation, and went back to reading, consequences be damned. Judith wasn’t sure how to feel when she saw that most of the cons were related to Cullen’s own fears. Part of her was relieved, she could assuage those fears, but her heart broke for him.

Looking at him again, how proud and handsome he looked as he stood there, silhouetted in candlelight, did he honestly think so little of himself? Swallowing a smile, she decided to write her own list, hastily scribbling it out as Cullen bid goodbye to the lieutenant and shut the door behind him.

“I’m sorry for that, Inquisitor. You wished to speak with me-what are you reading?” His voice cracked a bit when he turned around, an obviously familiar piece of paper in front of her.

Judith smiled at him, trying to reassure him, and perhaps feeling the tiniest bit guilty. “I saw my name, and I thought I’d save you the trouble of sending it with a messenger.”

“I, uh,” Cullen cleared his throat nervously, hand going to rub the back of his neck. “I can explain…?”

“There’s no need to explain. It’s quite an important document, and I see that you’ve been very detailed with your appraisals.”

“Inquisitor… Judith, _please_.” His face was slowly reddening, the blush extending to his ears. “Forget you saw anything. It’s foolish.”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“It’s ridiculous, I know that. I’ve just been… and you, oh Maker.” His entire face was now pink, extending down his neck. Judith felt extremely guilty for putting him on the spot, she hadn’t meant for it to happen quite like this, but there was no going back now.

“Cullen?” she asked gently. “How do you feel about me?”

“I feel, I feel quite a lot of things.” He looked away and shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands clasped in front of him. “I admire you. A great deal. This is not what you asked for you, but you have been so gracious, and you lead your team well. You lead the Inquisition well. So it started with admiration. But there was more, there _is_ more.”

He took a deep breath, and it appeared he had found his courage as he nodded firmly to himself. When he finally met her gaze, his eyes were soft, warm. “I enjoy spending time with you, and I have grown to care for you, quite ardently. I’ve wanted to tell you that, for longer than I should admit, but I’ve been afraid.” 

Judith felt a bit giddy, like she’d drunk too much wine, warm and pleasant all over. She stood quickly and took a step forward, then remembered her own list and turned back to snatch it from the desk. 

“You were very thorough with your list, like any good tactician. I’ve made one of my own, and I was hoping you would look at it?” She thrust the parchment forward, feeling her own cheeks heating with a blush. 

Cullen looked at her quizzically for a moment, head tilted and brows furrowed, before carefully taking the paper. He stared at it for longer than was necessary to read the words, there were only twelve of them, after all. She could even read them upside down. 

___Should you kiss me?_  
 _Pros: You would be kissing me._  
 _Cons: None._

Then she felt utterly foolish and perhaps she had been too forward? The heat burning her face seemed to double in intensity. 

“If you want to, that it is. I shouldn’t have presume-” Her words were cut off as Cullen ducked his head and planted his lips firmly against hers, one hand on her hip, the other cupping her cheek. She brought her hands up, curling her fingers into the fur of his cowl, and pressed herself a bit closer. He broke the kiss eventually and rested his forehead against hers, trying to catch his breath. 

“I think perhaps you should presume more often,” he said. 

“May I presume that you enjoyed that?” 

Her only was reply was a throaty laugh before he kissed her again. 


	7. Chapter 7

The day was warm, perfectly so with a gentle breeze that glided across your skin. Cullen took in a deep breath as he stepped outside, the air was fresh and sweet with the scent of blooming flowers; the beds lining the house were a riot of colors, ranging from the deepest, fiery reds to the purest whites.

Happy laughter cut through the air, and he turned to watch the children racing through the garden, playing some game or another.

“I’m gonna get you!” he heard his wife’s voice before he saw her racing after the kids, her fingers waggling in what he supposed was meant to be a menacing way. “I’m the tickle monster!”

“DADDY!” was yelled right before a blur of blonde curls attached itself to his legs. Cullen laughed and scooped up his daughter, balancing her on his hip.

“You’re home and in time to play!” The four-year old clapped happily.

“No, daddy gets to rest,” his wife said. “He’s just returned.” She smiled and leaned in close to kiss him. This earned a resounding ‘EW’ from both their children.

“I missed you,” she said as she pulled back, ignoring the outburst.

“I’ve missed you all.” It was a rare thing to leave home, his family, but having friends in high places meant certain responsibilities. Even though his love had long since given up her title of “Inquisitor.”

“Show your father what he missed.” She nudged their son forward, he tilted back his head and gave Cullen a wide smile, revealing two missing front teeth.

“Both of them?” Cullen had suppress a laugh.

“Ith okay,” he lisped despite his best effort not to.

“I heard from Mia the same thing happened to you as a boy?” His wife tilted her head, hair tumbling to one side.

“I fell, knocked out top and bottom. Eating was always an adventure until my permanent teeth came in.”

She laughed and took their daughter from his arms, setting her down so she could run off to play with her brother. “There’s bread and cheese left from lunch, if you’re hungry.” She kissed him again and turned back to the children. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go play tickle monster again.”

Cullen leaned his shoulder against the doorpost, content to simply stand and watch them. His beautiful wife, their children, laughing and playing as though they hadn’t a care in the world beyond this little cottage. A familiar finger trailed up his spine, cold and delightful. Lips caressed the curve of his ear, the lobe, the tender flesh just beneath it. 

“Just as we always wanted,” she whispered in his wife’s voice. “Just as we _always_ wanted.”

He didn’t move, didn’t stop smiling. And when his son stopped to wave him over he went, all the while feeling those demon hands clutching about his shoulders, trying to draw him back. This is real, he told himself. This is _real._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in retaliation to a bunch of angst people were posting on my dash.... AND I AM VERY SORRY ABOUT IT OKAY? ;_;


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Cullen/Lavellan inspired by the song "Shut Up and Dance" by Walk the Earth.

Herald’s Rest wasn’t ever known for being overly raucous, at least in compared to some of the places Cullen had known in the past – The Hanged Man being one of them. Most who went there for a pint were trying to unwind after a long day, or catch up with friends after patrol took them away from Skyhold.

At times, usually when the Chargers were around, things would pick up some, but they were hardly ever what he would describe as ‘out of hand.’

That was until tonight.

He wasn’t sure of the point of the ‘get together’, the messenger had found him early in the morning, requesting his presence at the pub that night. He’d thought it odd, there was no indication of who had sent the ‘invitation’, but he supposed it would have been rude to decline. Cullen arrived a bit late, there had been paperwork to finish and requisition orders to go over, and everything was a frantic crescendo of noise.

Maryden was accompanied by several of the Chargers on various instruments, and he even spotted Dorian with a lute. The song they played was upbeat and quick, encouraging those gathered to dance. Cullen was also aware of Iron Bull and Varric at the bar pounding back pints of ale… a contest it appeared by the cheers of those watching.

Cullen’s attention was soon caught by a pair whirling around the area before the fire; they held each other in what resembled the waltz, but their dance was more lively as they hopped and twirled around the room, feet stomping in time with the music.

Krem’s face was split in a wide grin as he laughed with the Inquisitor, while her face was… radiant, was the only word that came to Cullen’s mind. She had the widest smile he had ever seen grace her features.

Her hair had been left unbound, tumbling around her in cascade of wild curls, and the tips of her ears were pink from the exertion of dancing. She looked younger, carefree and happy, her shoulders no longer weighed down with responsibility. It was transfixing and he had to remind himself not to stare, however fruitless that endeavor might be.

He watched as Krem twirled her out, they broke their hold and the Inquisitor started dancing on her own, arms above her head as she twisted to the music. Then her eyes, which seemed so luminous in the firelight, fell on him and her expression changed. He couldn’t name the emotion that shined through her gaze, but it woke something inside him, the feeling settling inside his chest and making it difficult to breathe.

“Cullen!” she cried and rushed toward.

“What is this?”

“A gathering!”

“Is there any specific reason?”

She laughed, light and melodic, her eyes shimmering. “We’re here and we’re alive! What more reason do we need?”

“I suppose I can’t argue with that, Inquisitor.” He found himself returning her smile, still unable to tear his eyes away from her. She was like a welcoming beacon after being lost in the dark.

“I’m glad you agree!” she said over the din of the tavern. Then she darted forward, nimble fingers lacing with his and pulling him forward with surprising strength.

“W-what are you doing?”

“We’re going to dance, of course.” She smiled at him over his shoulder.

“No, I don’t dance. Besides you already have a partner, won’t Krem be disappointed?” He glanced around looking for Krem, and found him happily drinking with Iron Bull and cursed his bad luck. Or perhaps it was his good fortune?

“You do tonight!” She stopped and turned around, her hands snaking up to try to slip his fur mantle off his shoulders.

“Inquisitor?” He couldn’t keep his voice from rising, cracking on the word like when was a boy.

“You’ll be too warm.” She succeeded in yanking the article of clothing from his arms and tossed it over to Sera, who started giggling and pretended to drown in it.

“I’m not sure about this—?”

“Cullen?” She looked up at him, eyes impossibly large and face glowing, her noticed now her cheeks were as pink as the tips of her ears. She stood close, closer than was proper, he thought, but he didn’t care. He was also glad the fur was gone, because suddenly it felt like his body was on fire.

“Yes?”

“Relax.”

“Alright.” He let out a shaky breath and had the urge to rub the back of his neck, however his hands had been captured by hers and were otherwise occupied.

“Good, now shut up and dance!”


	9. Chapter 9

It came back time and time again—the scraping, scratching noise. It was maddening, especially when it was accompanied by a pathetic whining. Standing from his chair, Cullen made his way to the door and opened it, letting puppy bound into the room.

"You know I don’t get any work done when you’re here," he said. The puppy stopped and looked up with him sad eyes. "No, don’t give me that face. I won’t fall for it."

The puppy sat down, looking even sadder and Cullen felt his resolve crumble. “Oh, alright, we can play.” 

It was when the Inquisitor entered his office to retrieve paperwork two hours later that Cullen realized he’d never completed it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "The dead don't need luck. He'd want you to keep it."

"The dead don’t need luck. He’d want you to keep it." Cullen passed the ornate blade to the young man in front of him. It was always difficult to lose men, but that was never as difficult as having to explain it to their family. The young man nodded, thanked Cullen even, and left with his weeping mother in tow. 

Letting out a shuddering sigh he turned, meaning to head back to his office, to a pile of documents, things that needed his attention… things that required him to send good soldiers into the line of fire. He was stopped by a gentle hand on his shoulder, and the scent of lilacs. The Inquisitor. 

"Are you alright?" she asked, voice hushed.

"I will be. I’ll just throw myself into my work like always." He laughed weakly, and she frowned. 

"No, you won’t. Come with me."

"But I have—"

"The paperwork isn’t going to sprout legs and wander off, Cullen." She slipped her hand into his hand started tugging him toward the main keep, a small smile spreading across her face. "You can indulge me in a game of chess."

He found himself starting to return the smile, “Of course, who am I to deny the Inquisitor?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "And thats when it fell out of my hand."

… and that’s when it fell out of his hand, the moment she figuratively cornered him in the middle of the training yard, every eye on them. Cullen had tried so hard to keep it hidden, but now there was nothing to do about it now. She’d wanted to know what he was doing, what he was hiding. Now everything was out in the open.

He’d had grand schemes in floating around his head, some elaborate, romantic thing that would leave her giddy and happy. But now it was a sad moment with the glittering ring, newly obtained from a merchant in Val Royeaux, sitting in the mud at her feet. 

"I…." he tried to find the words, to say something, but words were not his friend at the moment. In fact, he was sure the entire world was against him. 

Everything was deathly quiet as she stared down at the ring. “You were going to…?” she trailed off, eyes still fixed on the golden band.

"I was. Not like this, though."

She bent down, picked up the ring and slipped it on her finger without even cleaning it. Then she lifted her gaze to his and said, “Yes.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mamihlapinatapei (The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move. ) 
> 
> CullenxLavellan

It’s obvious to everyone. Except themselves. 

On the outside looking in, you can’t help but notice the way his eyes light up the moment she walks into a room, or the nervous way he rubs his neck when her attention is focused on him. 

Nor can you miss the way the tips of her ears turn pink when he smiles at her, or how she’ll often let her fingers brush his when he hands her a report.

Everyone sees the way their gazes linger a moment too long when the other is distracted. Everyone is aware of the way he bends his head closer to hers when she speaks, and how she unconsciously draws a little closer than is strictly necessary.

It’s obvious in the lightness of both their steps.. if only it was obvious to them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: nanny/single parent au

Out of all the interviews he wasn’t exactly the most qualified, but his references were impeccable and the children loved him.

That was what mattered most. 

So she welcomed him into their home, showing him around and going over the details of all the position would entail. She couldn’t help the bit of melancholy that crept up. She wasn’t supposed to be doing this alone. She hadn’t planned on doing this alone. 

Though, she supposed, she wasn’t technically alone now. Even if it felt like it. 

She made tea before they continued going over schedules, and found him loitering in the family room. He was glancing over the photos above the fireplace, blonde head bent close to expect them.

He jumped when she cleared her throat. 

"I’m-I’m sorry," he said. "I didn’t mean to pry." He looked down, obviously embarrassed. 

"It’s alright." She handed him the tea before taking a seat. She felt a lump in her throat as she glanced toward the photos. 

"You miss him." 

"I do." She gave him a sad smile, then tried to shake it off. 

"What was his name, if I may ask?" He looked at her carefully, somber. 

Rising from her seat she crossed to the fireplace and picked up their wedding photo. They looked so happy, so carefree. She smiled at his mess of curly hair, his lop-sided grin. 

She sighed and clutched the photo to her chest, lifting her eyes to meet Alistair’s gaze across the room. “His name was Cullen.”


	14. Chapter 14

She did not have a fixation. She wanted that stated for the record… what record she wasn’t sure, exactly, but she still wanted it known.

She did _not_ have any fixation with the Commander’s lips. Or general mouth area… or the scar. Definitely not the scar.

She was just a very intent listener, making sure she heard him clearly so that she might make the best decision for the operation at hand. Yes, that was it. That was exactly it. She didn’t think about them when she was not in his presence, she certainly hadn’t had any type of _dreams_ about his lips or scar. Or about his lips on her lips or, perhaps, other places.

She had not.

These were all lies and slander spread by the enemy to, uh, to undermine her authority!

Because she, The Inquisitor, _did not_ have an obsession – a _fixation_ – with the lips of one Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition forces.

“Inquisitor?”

She snapped to herself, realizing that she had drifted off while speaking with the infamous Commander. “Uh, yes? I’m sorry.”

He stared at her for a moment then glanced down at his desk, as he looked for a fresh quill. “I asked how long you’ll be gone? I’ll put in the requisition order for supplies.”

“I think a mouth.. I mean a month. Four weeks. That should do it.” She rocked on her heels and nodded soundly, hoping he hadn’t noticed her slip.

Cullen glanced up at her, brows furrowed. “Are you sure you’re well?”

“Fine.” She nodded, willing herself not to stare. It was rude to stare. Besides, what if he was self-conscious about the scar? Against her will her eyes trailed down just as his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“Alright,” he said slowly, eying her closely. He licked his lips again.

Maker’s breath! Did he know?

She didn’t take the time to find out, instead offering up a flimsy excuse that she was needed elsewhere and beating a hasty retreat.

Damn the Commander and damn his lips.


	15. Chapter 15

She’s grown used to his hands, his fingertips. How they’ve traced every scar, every line and curve, feather soft as they left gooseflesh in their wake. Sometimes they soothed worried brows, gentle and kind. Other times they were insistent, strong and sure.

In the candlelight she can his fingers are stained with ink as he pours over documents and missives. She had come under the pretense of ‘finding something to read’, but she had long ago given up even pretending to comb over his bookcase.

She truthfully just enjoyed being in his presence, spending time with him even if they didn’t speak. She also enjoyed watching his hands. He sat down his quill and stretched his fingers, fanning them out to relieve the cramp from writing so long.

Without a word she stepped forward, leaning against his desk and took his hand. Laying it across her lap, palm side up, she dug her thumb into the fleshy part of his hand. He let out a sigh, leaning back in his chair as his eyes drifted shut.

The room was quiet save their even breathes as she traced over the callouses on his hand, the fine lines on his palm. Eventually she stopped her ministrations, and started to lift his palm up. She did not need to look at him to know that his eyes were open, his gaze heavy. She pressed a gentle kiss to the palm of his hand, to each fingertip.

“What was that for?” he asked quietly, voice rough.

“You work hard,” she replied, dropping his hand back to her lap. She moved past his hand to his wrist, her fingers gently massaging up his arm, working out the tightness in his muscles. He made a noise in the back of his throat and she had to swallow to a smile.

“If you continue with that, I won’t be able to finish my work,” he warned.

She stopped and blinked at him with doe eyes, forcing her mouth into a surprised O. “Well, we can’t have that.” Shaking her head sadly, she glanced toward the stack of papers on his desk. She dropped his hand and stood from her perch. “I’m sure there are many important things that require your full attention, Commander.”

She walked around to the front of his desk, looking toward the door, and frowned. “I am quite tired though, it’s been such a long day. The trek back to my room seems so long.”

He was still focused on her rather than his paperwork, he wet his lips and she wondered if perhaps his mouth had gone a bit dry.

“However, there is a comfy bed just up there.” Her eyes traveled up toward the loft and, with an exaggerated yawn, she lifted her arms over her head, letting her shirt ride up an inch. “You don’t mind if I take advantage of it, do you? Seeing as you’re so bus—”

Her words were cut off as Cullen rose from his seat and lunged forward, his fingers digging into her sides, just where there was an inch of exposed skin, and tickling. She laughed, head thrown back as she tried to untangle herself.

It wasn’t clear whether she managed to free herself on her own or he let her go, but either way she danced away and scurried up the ladder, Cullen hot on her heels.


End file.
